Chapter 382: A Moment of Bewildered Shock
Beneath one’s own couch, how could one allow another to sleep soundly?
Since ancient times, emperors have all had this same kind of suspicion. In order to sleep peacefully, the Ming dynasty’s founding emperor, Zhu Yuanzhang, established a secret organization—the Jinyiwei—to monitor officials and the common people alike. They controlled the prisons, were granted the right to investigate and arrest, and oversaw the Zhenfu Division beneath them, which handled surveillance, capture, interrogation, and other such activities. Successive emperors of the Ming, while inheriting the mantle of the Great Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang, also inherited this special agency, allowing it to become a department that stood above and outside the normal judicial system.
The Jinyiwei was a name that made the entire world tremble. The Jinyiwei prison—most of all—was something that turned faces pale at the mere mention of it, a place whose darkness could silence even a crying infant in the night.
At this moment, Shen Lian was within that very Jinyiwei death prison. Because of a single line from the Jiajing Emperor—“Select an auspicious day to carry out the execution”—Shen Lian had already been judged a condemned criminal. Even the protection of Lu Bing, one of the highest-ranking leaders in the Jinyiwei, could not spare him from being thrown into the death cells.
The Jinyiwei death cells were separated from all other prisons, fortified layer after layer. On the outermost perimeter was a net woven of thick iron wire—so dense that even small birds could not pass through. Bells hung from the mesh, so that the slightest movement would set them ringing in warning.
The entrance to the death cells consisted of two gates. The outer gate was cast entirely from bronze and iron, and upon its surface was carved the image of an ancient beast—Bì’àn—blue-faced, with fanged jaws, fierce and terrifying. At first glance it looked somewhat like a tiger, and so people often referred to the Jinyiwei death cells as the “Tiger Cage.”
The second gate of this Tiger Cage stood three meters behind the first. Which meant, almost certainly, that the walls of the Tiger Cage were nearly three meters thick. The craftsmanship behind these walls was formidable: the interior of the three-meter wall was hollow, filled with sand. Had the protagonist of The Shawshank Redemption been confined to this Tiger Cage instead, he could forget any hope of escape.
Dig through the walls?
Heh—within the walls of the Tiger Cage, the flowing sand would bury you alive.
Inside the Tiger Cage, the light was dim, its location clearly below ground. Thanks to Lu Bing’s special instructions, Shen Lian had been placed in the least dreadful of the death cells—but even so, only two faint shafts of sunlight slanted into the room.
A death cell was called a death cell for a reason: one entered alive and left as a corpse. The prisoners within the Jinyiwei’s death cells were all the same—ashen-faced, hollow-eyed, their spirits already extinguished.
Only one was different: the newly arrived Shen Lian.
In the weak light, Shen Lian lay face-down upon a bed of moldy straw. Even though the flesh on his hips was split and torn, he was still smiling.
“Chunfu… why do this…” Lu Bing murmured. He sat on a filthy wooden stool inside the cell, looking at the battered and pitiful Shen Lian, sighing in helpless sorrow.
“Since ancient times,” Shen Lian said, “evil has never been eradicated without bloodshed. Today the traitorous Yan Song holds power, clouding the Emperor’s judgment, leaving the people unable to live in peace. Yet no one has yet shed blood in the act of removing this villain. This is precisely why the traitor remains. Since ancient times, to kill a traitor one must spill blood. If blood must be spilled—let it begin with me, Shen Lian.”
His forehead was split and bleeding, his temples messy with disheveled hair, flesh torn across his lower body—yet his face shone with righteous, unyielding resolve.
“As long as the green hills remain, one need not fear a lack of firewood. Chunfu, why can’t you understand this?” Lu Bing shook his head heavily. “Yan Song and his son control the court. Their roots run deep. What you’re doing is meaningless sacrifice.”
“What is meaningless? My blood will wake those who still have conscience. Compared to the villain Yan Song, I am but an ant. But even the thousand-mile dyke collapses from an ant’s nest. No matter how deep the roots of the traitor’s power, they cannot withstand countless ants.”
“Today, I, Shen Lian, shall be the first ant to break the dyke!”
Shen Lian’s expression did not waver. He faced death as though it were nothing. Even knowing he had been condemned, when he spoke these words, his eyebrows danced with passion, his saliva flew with intensity—nothing like a man approaching execution.
“Dying is easy. But Chunfu—have you thought about this? If you die, what of your wife, your children, your parents?” Lu Bing pressed. He shook his head, pointing to the weak spot Shen Lian had overlooked.
Shen Lian was a man Lu Bing valued deeply. In both character and ability, he was someone Lu Bing admired—superior and subordinate, yet also confidant and friend. Seeing Shen Lian like this, Lu Bing’s heart twisted painfully. He could not bear to watch the man march willingly into hell. Even a single straw—Lu Bing wished he could throw it to pull him back.
Yet despite his position as Commander of the Jinyiwei, even he hesitated before the Emperor’s favorite, Yan Song. His power had limits.
He wanted to persuade Shen Lian. If Shen Lian were willing to bow his head, there might still be a sliver of life left.
After decades in the Jinyiwei, Lu Bing understood human nature. Even the strongest hearts had weaknesses—most of them lay in family: parents, wives, children.
This time, invoking family was not for intimidation—but for salvation.
It was the only exception in Lu Bing’s entire career.
The steadfast, death-defying Shen Lian faltered as soon as he heard the question. His expression cracked—just a hairline fracture, but a fracture nonetheless.
“Ahh… I owe them far too much.” Shen Lian sighed, shaking his head. In those iron-solid eyes of his, a thin layer of moisture shimmered.
Seeing hope, Lu Bing prepared to press further—only for Shen Lian to continue:
“Family or nation, which weighs more heavily? I am no stone or wood. Yet I must still harden my heart and fail those I love.”
“Chunfu…” Lu Bing could not help calling out again.
“My lord, please do not try to persuade me. My resolve is set. I only ask… for the sake of our bond… that you protect my wife and children.” Shen Lian struggled to bow, paying his respects.
“Very well. Chunfu, rest easy. As long as I, Lu Bing, draw breath, no one will harm them.” Lu Bing nodded deeply, making his solemn vow.
“Then I have no regrets,” Shen Lian said softly, a faint smile easing his heart.
“Chunfu, think again. As long as you live, there will be future chances.” Lu Bing tried one last time.
“I can wait. But the Ming cannot wait. The people cannot wait.” Shen Lian shook his head firmly.
“You—” Lu Bing let out a bitter sigh.
“It’s only a pity that I will not live to see the day the traitor Yan falls. Ah… after my death, my lord, I beg you—please have my severed head face the Golden Throne. If I cannot see it in life, then in death I shall watch the traitor fall!”
Shen Lian sighed, then voiced his final wish.
Lu Bing’s heart twisted painfully. This was a man he admired, a rare confidant—yet he was helpless.
Utterly helpless.
Seeing Shen Lian’s calm acceptance of death, Lu Bing felt as if knives were carving into his chest.
At that moment, footsteps echoed outside the death cell. Someone was approaching.
“Presumptuous! Did I not say no one is to disturb us without my order?” Already unsettled, Lu Bing’s anger burst forth. All his pent-up frustration was about to pour onto the fool who dared intrude.
“Please forgive me, my lord…” A Jinyiwei officer in flying-fish robes knelt, bowing deeply.
“A message from the palace. His Majesty has ordered the officials to draft a decree…” the officer reported from the ground.
A decree?
Had not the Emperor said the execution date would be selected later? Why was a decree being drafted so soon? Lu Bing was stunned.
“My lord, worry not. The sooner my blood is shed, the sooner the realm will awaken! Excellent—excellent!” Shen Lian exclaimed, as composed as ever.
“His Majesty has ordered a decree to be drafted—Shen-daren is to be exiled, sent to labor in Bao’an.” The officer spoke the news in one breath.
What?
Lu Bing was stunned.
Even the death-embracing Shen Lian showed shock for the first time.
“Repeat that!” Lu Bing demanded, unable to believe it.
“His Majesty has ordered a decree—Shen-daren is to be exiled, sent to labor in Bao’an!” the officer repeated.
Shock—then joy! Lu Bing burst into laughter, looking at Shen Lian with unrestrained relief.
And the stunned were not only Lu Bing. Over at the Yan residence, where the Yan faction had just begun celebrating, the moment they heard the news, they were just as dumbfounded.
They had expected Shen Lian’s execution—how had it turned into exile?
A faint worry crept into Yan Song’s heart. He immediately ordered Yan Shifan to find out why the Emperor had changed his mind.